


Unfinished Arguments

by PFDiva



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Cunnilingus, M/M, Marielda Spoilers, Open Relationship, Overstimulation, Rough Sex, Trans Male Character, fight me, or is possibly weird throughout, sad sex, samot being a disaster bi, samot's manpain, this just takes a damned weird turn in the middle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 10:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PFDiva/pseuds/PFDiva
Summary: The day after High Sun day, Samot and Samothes (don't) talk.





	Unfinished Arguments

Samot awoke to find himself in the center of a rapidly-cooling pile of shivering mortals. He was sticky with all manner of fluids and entirely dissatisfied with the circumstances of his awakening. Mortals, no matter how many he surrounded himself with, were never able to retain enough heat when pressed up against him.

With a sigh, he worked his way out of the bed. Some of the mortals were hardy enough that his motion made them whine with discontent and reach for him. Most had been thoroughly worn out by the previous night's vigorous activity and barely stirred, except to reach for someone to warm them in Samot's absence. The ones who reached for him were kissed back into insensibility, with one notable exception.

Samot had to carefully pull his long hair from beneath and between his lovers as he got up. Whether by accident or design, a handful of Samot's hair turned out to be tangled around the hand of one particularly vigorous woman. When Samot began detangling it, she sat up to try and tempt him back. She was very tempting, but not tempting enough. Judicious use of his fingers between her thighs proved apology enough for her to return to sleep without him.

Samot licked his fingers clean while searching for something to wear amongst his peers. He eventually found an oversized sweater, which he belted with a scarf before entering the elevator to leave his room. He left the room with his hair a tangled mess, his clothing falling off, more nude than dressed. He didn't care. He had noone to impress.

He found Primo cheerfully serving breakfast to Severea and Galenica at the table while the various mortals who'd come at Samothes' invitation all pretended not to be in awe of the divine attendees. Samothes was nowhere to be seen, but Samot knew where /he/ would be found.

Samot turned his attention to the breakfast being served, ignoring the gawking of those of his followers who'd failed to join him last night. Samot's followers tended towards very worldly or very sheltered, with little middle ground. Severea and Galenica's followers, as well as Samothes', were largely made of more worldly stuff and while some peeked, it was less because they were scandalized and more because they were interested. Samot wasn't even being sexy on purpose.

He planted himself in Galenica's lap, such as it was, and laid his head on her shoulder like he was young and newly-formed again.

"I don't know what you thought would happen," Severea sighed, passing him a plate of biscuits. He ate one without responding, burying his face in Galenica's shoulder and pretending for a while.

"My lord?" It was one of Samot's followers, and one of the /guilty/ ones at that.

He growled at the man, letting his teeth show--the real ones--and had the satisfaction of watching him and several others recoil in fear. He'd only meant to frighten the guilty, though, and Severea frowned at him when her own followers blanched. He harrumphed his irritation and made himself small in Galenica's lap. He could feel them heave a sigh, but they let him stay.

Eventually, Galenica got up. They carried him to the center of the ballroom and deposited him on the floor next to Samol's chair like the overdramatic child he was emulating. He melted onto his back, legs stretched out while they left with Severea. The forge was beneath this floor, and he imagined he could feel the forge's heat through it. Samol's chair loomed over him like disapproval and judgement.

Samot threw an arm across his face to block out the sight of it. Not everything was his fault, but this was. Maelgwyn. If he had known what would happen, he might not have been able to stop it, but perhaps he could have warned Maelgwyn. Then again, Maelgwyn feared nothing and took no precautions. He was confidence alive, after all.

After the void only knew how long, Samot could hear someone stepping closer. He uncovered his eyes for a look. The guilty man from before. Terror poured off of him in waves. That was appropriate. But the man had no regret in him.

Samot flowed to his feet, standing over the man from far too close.

"That was my son."

The man blanched in horror. He hadn't known. He still had no regret, no apology in him, but Samot could see now that he'd expected a reward for his action. Samot stalked closer still, catching the man by his elbows and pulling him close.

"But since you want my divine touch so badly, I will give it to you." He kissed the man. Gently. His lips and tongue coaxed the other's mouth open under his own. Fearful confusion melted into open desire and Samot soon had a warm body molding against his own. Samot reveled in that warmth in ways he usually wouldn't. Mortals were fragile, after all. They couldn't survive long without their warmth. But they could survive long enough to suffer.

When Samot had absorbed all of the meager heat the man's body had to offer, he pushed the man away. He stumbled and fell back, his skin already the grey pallor of death. Samot looked at the other guilty, "Anyone else?" Their silence was answer enough.

Samot descended to Samothes' forge. He paused when he reached the bottom of the stairs in order to steel himself. Who knew how angry Samothes was. Samot did not fidget with his clothing, though he wanted to. Instead, he took a breath and made his way across the forge. As he crossed it, he was aware of his followers gathering their soon-to-be-dead companion over his head. It didn't matter.

Void below, but it was warm in Samothes' forge! Samot was finally comfortable, and got more so the closer he got to Samothes. The god in question was hard at work. Shirtless and sweating and gorgeous. Samot spent a long time admiring the ripple of muscle under skin and the trickle of sweat over it. Eventually, he took a seat. There was always a seat in Samothes' forge for him. Exactly because the heat of Samothes' forge filled the cold void inside Samot. This one was a convertable sort of chaise--long enough to lay on.

"I understand, now, why you would rather leave them in ignorance."

Samothes didn't answer, but Samot hadn't expected him to. Samot sighed, sprawling onto his stomach and listening to his hair slither to the floor while he continued to talk.

"The main perpetrator has fled from her crimes. Almost dead, but not quite. Her grief is quite punishment enough. Or it will have to be, I suppose."

Samothes' hammer fell silent. Samot kept speaking.

"But he is safe. For all that he's captive, he's safe my love. Safe in your city where they will not look for him or think to touch him."

Samothes heaved a long-suffering sigh and Samot breathed again. He was forgiven. As much as he would be, anyway. He heard the lightest scrape of something being picked up from a table, then Samothes sat down on the floor next to Samot's chaise.

Samot lifted his head enough to look at Samothes. He had a small brush in hand, his legs crossed under him, the sweat beading on his skin sliding down to dampen his pants. The naked longing Samot saw in his husband's face set him aflame.

"I've missed you, husband."

Samothes grabbed Samot's hair and began carefully brushing the semen and tangles out, "You smell of mortals."

"I only had them because I couldn't have you."

"You're making a mistake."

"You're wrong, but must we discuss that today?"

Samothes' fist briefly clenched around the end of Samot's hair. "If it wasn't for your mistakes, Maelgwyn wouldn't be--"

"I know." Samot cupped Samothes' face in his hand, his nethers clenching as Samothes closed his eyes and moaned in response to the coolness of Samot's skin after the heat of the forge. Samot wasn't making a mistake with regards to the heat and the dark, but what happened to Maelgwyn had nothing to do with that and was, indeed, his fault. He was the one who'd insisted mortals be taught. He stroked Samothes' face, stealing Samothes' warmth from his face and neck, tangling fingers in the short, dark hair at his nape.

"I know, love."

Samothes opened his eyes, meeting Samot's gaze as he pressed a deliberate kiss to the inside of Samot's wrist. Samot shivered and bit back a whimper. Samothes pulled away from Samot's touch and resumed brushing Samot's hair.

"Who do I smell on your skin?"

Samot rolled to present his back to Samothes, making it easier for Samothes to brush his hair as he inspected his own hand, "I don't know her name, but she didn't want me to leave this morning."

"Strong, then."

"Mmm," Samot agreed, "She wants to keep me."

"Will you let her?"

"Perhaps."

There was a disgusting crunchy noise as Samothes got closer to Samot's scalp with the brush. Both of them ignored it in favor of their conversation. Samot could guess the answer to his next question, but still he asked, "Have you taken any lovers?"

"A few. Not many." A few for Samothes was one or two in a century. But he wasn't like Samot. He didn't drown his loneliness in ecstasy with mortals.

"Lots of projects?"

"A few." Samothes didn't ask Samot what he'd been working on, and Samot didn't expect the question. Samothes had finally reached Samot's scalp, and now the hair-brushing had gone from horror show to sensual tease. Samot let himself slump back into Samothes' motions with a wistful sigh.

"I'm always so cold, husband. Let me warm myself with you?"

"Samot," Samothes growled, trying to put warning in his voice. Instead, he just sounded like he wanted to bruise Samot, and Samot liked it when Samothes bruised him. So instead of heeding the attempt at a warning, he gracefully rolled off the chaise, straddling Samothes' lap and dropping his weight against Samothes in exactly the right way to feel the hot throb of Samothes under him.

"Be angry at me tomorrow, husband. I need you today." He slid his hands up Samothes arms, down his chest, fingertips catching on the hair there as Samothes' arms came around him. "And more than that, I want you. No other satisfies me as you do."

Samothes' hands gripped Samot's ass hard enough to bruise, roughly kneading into the soft flesh and causing Samot's body to make obscene noises. "You'll only get physical satisfaction from me today."

Samot had missed conversation with Samothes, missed laughing with Samothes, missed creating with Samothes, but sex would have to be good enough. He lifted his gaze from Samothes' chest, "I'll take it. You know I'll take everything you give me."

A nostalgic smile spread Samothes face, his hands gentling as he parroted the rote reply, "And still demand more."

Samot smiled back, then kissed Samothes like he might never get another chance to do it. Samothes responded to Samot's ferocity with equal desperation, leveraging his weight and Samot's pliability to get Samot on his back. It wasn't long before his face was between Samot's thighs, Samot's knees hooked over his shoulders, strong hands wrapped tightly around pale thighs.

It was honestly embarrassing how quickly Samot reached his peak, shuddering his way through a thin, pale imitation of the pleasure he would eventually experience. Samothes chuckled into his thigh, "You really did miss me, didn't you?" Samot groaned his discontent, roughly tangling his fingers in Samothes' hair in an attempt to make Samothes /stop talking./ Samothes shuddered and obeyed the wordless request.

Samothes spent an inordinate amount of time eating Samot out, refusing to let up after the first /real/ orgasm, and the second. When Samot realized that Samothes intended to keep going until he could no longer taste the mortal spend left in Samot's body, he shrieked his way through a third orgasm. He lost count after that.

Samothes was merciless in the sort of way he rarely had patience to be, and Samot was uniquely in the mood to play the victim. He had no idea how long it took before Samothes was done tormenting him--far longer than it took to get to the taste of Samot's body alone, for certain. Samot enjoyed every second of it.

Eventually, Samot no longer had the energy to scream and just moaned as Samothes gave him orgasm after orgasm, too tired to toss his head, too tired even to be overstimulated. That was when Samothes finally crawled out from beneath Samot's legs to kiss Samot and let him taste himself in Samothes' mouth. Samot sighed out a whimper as Samothes pushed into him. He was so swollen and wet from Samothes' attentions that all of Samothes slid right in, making him moan and weakly clench.

"You're so cold," Samothes gasped into Samot's neck, and Samot found the strength to wrap his legs around Samothes' waist, making his hips buck. Samothes was so hot inside of Samot that it felt like he was burning. And the reverse was true to Samothes. Neither of them ever tired of the contrast.

Samot traced nonsense into Samothes' back with his fingers, raking his claws over warm skin when Samothes faltered, or just because it pleased them both. Samothes fucked him with the bruising force he'd been hoping for and Samot knew that he would ache for a long time after this.

When Samothes spilled himself into Samot, Samot took the opportunity to flip Samothes onto his back, pinning the other man's hands to the ground and riding Samothes through his orgasm. Samot soon had Samothes thrashing and writhing with ecstasy under him. It was Samot's turn to bring Samothes beyond pleasure.

It was a long time before they were done with each other. They'd made it up to the chaise in the interval, and when they collapsed together, Samot was facedown again, his hair possessively wrapped around Samothes' fist, still full of Samothes' cock and pinned in place by Samothes' bulk. It was wonderful.

After resting for some minutes, Samothes sighed and kissed Samot's shoulder. Then he carefully unwound his hand and got up. Samot already felt colder.

"I don't think I should come back here for high sun day again."

He could hear Samothes getting dressed for a moment before Samothes replied, "I think you're right."

Samot got up, and he could feel Samothes' seed trickling out of him, taking more of his warmth with it. The pleasurable ache left behind by Samothes was not enough to compensate for the loss. Samothes kissed his cheek, then returned to his work. At least, he pretended to. Samot watched Samothes aimlessly move around, his back deliberately towards Samot.

Samot watched for a long time. He did not say that he loved Samothes, or that he was sorry for what happened to Maelgwyn. Samothes knew these facts. They wouldn't change anything.

Finally, Samot turned and headed back upstairs.

Alone.


End file.
